


Song of Valinor

by claudia603



Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003)
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-25
Updated: 2010-04-25
Packaged: 2017-10-09 03:32:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/82556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claudia603/pseuds/claudia603
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a Waymeet challenge. I selected the line: "And Frodo went to the King as he was sitting with the Queen Arwen by the fountain, and she sang a song of Valinor, while the Tree grew and blossomed."  In the book, this line appears in the chapter "Many Partings."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Song of Valinor

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Sophinisba for the beta!

Frodo has an uncanny memory, one that can rival the wisest, oldest Elf. Maybe that's a bit of an exaggeration, Sam concedes, but this memory of Frodo's is what has made him into such a scholar, and of _that_ Sam Gamgee has no doubt. Sam always used to think it was just Frodo's abiding love for Bilbo that kept all those Elvish phrases and songs in his head, to be retrieved at just the right moment, no matter the occasion. But Sam also notices how quick-witted Frodo is, how wise he is about people, no matter who he's speaking to. He is like the lizards that Sam saw in the courtyard of the Houses of Healing in Minas Tirith, the kind that switches colors depending on surroundings, such as a greenish color on a grassy patch or a dull gray around the stone wall that surrounds the courtyard. Frodo blends in with whoever he's with. Sam doesn't mean that he is dishonest or that he changes himself to something unnatural or false. He has this careful, articulate way of speaking to Strider the King. To the High Elves, he speaks formally, with proper awe, and with greetings in their own language. With the Rohirrim, he takes a less formal style of speech, but he uses stories about horses and ponies to illustrate his points. When dealing with hobbits, like his own cousins, he switches to a playful, teasing banter.

No wonder he was so hurt inside, Sam thinks, there's so much depth to him.

Sam loves Frodo with all his heart and not a day goes by when he doesn't bless the luck that brought them both safely home to the Shire, alive and mostly whole, where they can now live the rest of their lives in peace. Sam will marry his Rosie, and he will continue to garden Bag End. Frodo will get better again. It will take time, as even the best healers in Middle-earth can't take away the damage the Ring has done, but Sam believes that one day Frodo will be good as new. After all, as Strider once said, a tree grows best in the land of its sires. In the Shire the soil is especially fertile, a thing Sam Gamgee will never again take for granted.

But Sam's bit of earth in the Bag End garden is dead, trampled to the ground, and blood has been spilt on it. After all he'd gone through, all he'd lost or nearly lost, he can't help but marvel that he's bawling over a dead rose bush, grieving over a wilted flower. He digs his fingers into the moist dirt and a new calm seeps up his arms. The earth strengthens him and reminds him that he is home, and whatever happened in the Shire while he was gone, it's still his home and still his bit of earth, and he need never leave it again. That is, until such day as he pleases. One day he might again feel the restless need to roam again, but for now, all he wants is his life as a hobbit back.

_I used to dream about seeing the Elves,_ he thinks, _and of walking trees and other wonders of the outside world. Now I've had about enough of that to last a lifetime or three. Now I dream about having my garden back and that's all._

He unclenches his fist and stares through tear-filled eyes at the crumpled dry rose petals he holds.

A clear voice sings behind him and the song penetrates Sam's fog of grief. His heart flops and swells inside his chest, as it always does when he contemplates with awe the love he feels for his master and all the surprises that come with it. His master is not broken or crippled. Nobody can sing with such joy and be broken inside. Frodo's voice is lyrical and unaffected, sweet and healing. The words are in Elvish, and Sam feels a stirring of the earth under his hand, a new rallying strength. Visions sweep over him, but mostly he sees moonlight spilling over a tree filled with silver flowers that bloom amidst dark green leaves. Waves crash upon a misty shore, and the smell of sea fills his nostrils.

_The smell of sea -- you've never yet seen the sight of the sea so how would you know what it smells like? _

Still singing, Frodo kneels beside Sam. Sam catches a glimpse of unshed tears in his eyes. His song trails off.

"The garden will one day be the best in the Shire, Sam," he says quietly. "But you must be patient."

"What's that song you were singing?" Sam asks. "Is it one of Mr. Bilbo's?"

"No." Frodo shakes his head with a sad smile. "I heard the Queen Arwen singing it in the courtyard some time in those last days before we left Minas Tirith. The White Tree flourished and bloomed under her voice. I fear I do not have the same enchantment to my voice." He touches a brown leaf. "I'm sorry, Sam. I know this was the worst thing to come back to."

"But it's going to be just fine, sir," Sam says. "I can't explain it but there was something in your voice just now, some sort of Elvish touch. I felt it right here." Sam pats his heart. "And down there." He touches the ground around the rose bush again.

"Nonsense," Frodo laughs. "Come inside, Sam, and let's have a bite to eat. It's way past tea time."

* * *

 

In May two wondrous things happen. Sam marries Rosie Cotton and a single flower blooms on the rose bush. Most of the bush is dead, filled with brown leaves and shriveled flowers that will likely never blossom again. But Sam feels a stirring in the earth, a song that will echo there for ages. He knows this rose is the first of many, and there is hope again, not just for the rose bush but for the Shire and for his dear, sweet master. So much that went wrong has been made right. The new rose is pale pink, fierce and beautiful, stark in its courage. In the moonlight it appears silver surrounded by dark green leaves, and when the wind rustles the bush, it sounds just as Sam imagines the gentle rolling of waves on a faraway shore, far over the Sea.


End file.
